Simon and Linnet Doyle set off on their expedition to Philae about eleven o'clock the following morning. Jacqueline de Bellefort, sitting on the hotel balcony, watched them set off in the picturesque sailing boat. What she did not see was the departure of a car with luggage, and in which sat a maid from the hotel. It turned to the right in the direction of Shellal. Hercule Poirot decided to pass the remaining two hours before lunch on the island of Elephantine, immediately opposite the hotel.
He went down to the landing stage[139]. There was a young man just stepping into one of the hotel boats, and Poirot joined him. The young man had arrived by train the day before. He was tall, dark-haired, with a thin face and a pugnacious chin. He was wearing an extremely dirty pair of grey flannel trousers and a high-necked polo jumper unsuited to the climate. The young man deliberately turned his back on Poirot[140] and proceeded to admire the Nubian boatman steering the boat with his toes[141] as he manipulated the sail with his hands.
It was very peaceful on the water, the great smooth slippery black rocks gliding by and the soft breeze fanning their faces. Elephantine was reached very quickly and on going ashore Poirot made straight for the Museum[142]. The young man in the flannel trousers strolled listlessly round the Museum, yawning from time to time, and then escaped to the outer air.
Presently Poirot, seeing a green sunshade which he recognized on the rocks down by the river, escaped in that direction.
Mrs Allerton was sitting on a large rock, a book on her lap[143].
Poirot removed his hat politely and Mrs Allerton at once entered into conversation.
“Good-morning,” she said. “I suppose it would be quite impossible to get rid of some of these awful children.”
A group of small black figures surrounded her, all grinning and holding out imploring hands[144] as they repeated “Bakshish” at intervals, hopefully.
“I thought they'd get tired of me,” said Mrs Allerton sadly. “They've been watching me for over two hours now – and they come closer to me little by little, and then I yell and brandish my sunshade at them and they scatter for a minute or two[145]. And then they come back again.”
She laughed ruefully.
“If there were only any peace in Egypt, I should like it better,” said Mrs Allerton. “But you can never be alone anywhere. Someone is always asking you for money, or offering you donkeys, or beads, or expeditions to native villages.”
“It is the great disadvantage, that is true,” agreed Poirot.
He spread his handkerchief on the rock and sat upon it.
“Your son is not with you this morning?” he went on.
“No, Tim had some letters to send before we leave. We're doing the trip to the Second Cataract, you know.”
“I, too.”
“I'm so glad. I want to tell you that I'm quite thrilled to meet you. I saw you from my window walking down the drive with Simon Doyle this morning. Do tell me what you make of him?[146] We're all so excited about him.”
“Ah? Truly?”
“Yes. You know his marriage to Linnet Ridgeway was the greatest surprise. She was supposed to be going to marry Lord Windlesham and then suddenly she gets engaged to this man no one had ever heard of!”
“You know her well, Madame?”
“No, but a cousin of mine, Joanna Southwood, is one of her best friends.”
“Ah, yes, I have read that name in the papers.” He was silent a moment and then went on, “She is a young lady very much in the news, Mademoiselle Joanna Southwood.”
“Oh, she knows how to advertise herself all right,” snapped Mrs Allerton.
“You do not like her, Madame?”
“You see I'm old-fashioned. I don't like her much. Tim and she are the greatest friends, though.”
“I see,” said Poirot.
His companion shot a quick look at him.[147] She changed the subject.
“How very few young people there are out here! That pretty girl with the chestnut hair and the appalling mother in the turban is almost the only young creature in the place. You have talked to her a good deal, I notice.
“Tim and I call her the 'sulky girl.' I've tried to talk to her once or twice, but she's snubbed me on each occasion. However I believe she's going on this Nile trip too, and I expect we'll have to be more or less all matey together, shan't we?
“Tim tells me that that dark girl – her name is de Bellefort – is the girl who was engaged to Simon Doyle. It's rather awkward for them – meeting like this.”
“It is awkward – yes,” agreed Poirot.
Mrs Allerton shot a quick glance at him.
“ You know, it may sound foolish, but she almost frightened me.”
Poirot nodded his head slowly.
“A great force of emotion is always frightening, Madame.”
“Do people interest you too, Monsieur Poirot? Or do you reserve your interest for potential criminals?”
“Madame – that category would not leave many people outside it.”
Mrs Allerton looked startled.
“Do you really mean that? Even I perhaps?”
“Mothers, Madame, are particularly ruthless when their children are in danger.”
She said gravely, “I think that's true – yes, you're quite right.”
She was silent a minute or two, then she said, smiling: “I'm trying to imagine motives for crime suitable for everyone in the hotel. It's quite entertaining. Simon Doyle for instance?”
Poirot said, smiling: “A very simple crime – a direct shortcut to his objective.”
“And Linnet?”
“That would be like the Queen in your Alice in Wonderland, 'Off with her head.'”[148]
“And the dangerous girl – Jacqueline de Bellefort – could she do a murder?”
Poirot hesitated for a minute or two, then he said doubtfully, “Yes, I think she could.”
“But you're not sure?”
“No. She puzzles me, that little one.”
“I don't think Mr Pennington could do one, do you? And poor Mrs Otterbourne in her turban?”
“There is always vanity.”
“As a motive for murder?” Mrs Allerton asked doubtfully.
“Motives for murder are sometimes very trivial, Madame.”
“What are the most usual motives, Monsieur Poirot?”
“Most frequent – money. Then there is revenge.”
“Monsieur Poirot!”
Then she took a lighter tone.
“After this conversation, Monsieur Poirot, I shall wonder that there is anyone left alive!”
She got up.
“We must be getting back. We have to start immediately after lunch.”
When they reached the landing stage they found the young man in the polo jumper just taking his place in the boat. Poirot addressed a polite remark to the stranger.[149]
“There are very wonderful things to be seen in Egypt, are there not?”
The young man was now smoking a pipe. He removed it from his mouth and remarked briefly, in astonishingly good accents, “They make me sick[150].”
Mrs Allerton put on her pincenez and looked at him with interest.
“Indeed? And why is that?” Poirot asked.
“Take the Pyramids. Great blocks of useless masonry, put up to keep a despotic king. Think of the people who worked hard to build them and died doing it. It makes me sick to think of the suffering and torture they represent.”
Mrs Allerton said cheerfully, “You'd rather have no Pyramids, no Parthenon[151], no beautiful temples – just the satisfaction of knowing that people got three meals a day and died in their beds.”
The young man directed his grin in her direction.
“I'd rather see a well fed worker than any so-called work of art. What matters is the future – not the past.[152]”
The young man told everybody exactly what he thought of the capitalist system. When the tirade was over they had arrived at the hotel landing stage.
In the hall of the hotel Poirot met Jacqueline de Bellefort. She was dressed in riding clothes[153]. She gave him an ironical little bow. “I'm going donkey riding. Do you recommend the native villages, Monsieur Poirot?”
“Is that your excursion today, Mademoiselle? Well, they are picturesque – but do not spend large sums of money.”
“No, I am not so easy to deceive as that.” With a little nod she passed out into the brilliant sunshine.
After lunch the hotel bus took the passengers for the Second Cataract to the station where they were to catch the daily express[154] from Cairo on to Shellal – a ten-minute run.
The Allertons, Poirot, and the young man in the dirty flannel trousers were the passengers. Mrs Otterbourne and her daughter would join the steamer at Shellal.
The train from Cairo to Luxor was about twenty minutes late. However, it arrived at last, and the usual scenes of wild activity occurred. Native porters taking suitcases out of the train collided with other porters putting them in. The compartment in which Poirot found himself was occupied by an elderly lady with a very wrinkled face, a good many diamonds and an expression of contempt for the majority of mankind.
She gave Poirot an aristocratic glare and retired behind the pages of an American magazine. A big rather clumsy young woman of under thirty was sitting opposite her. She had eager brown eyes, untidy hair, and an air of willingness to please[155]. At intervals the old lady looked over the top of the magazine and gave her orders. In ten minutes' time they came to rest on the jetty where the S.S. Karnak[156] was awaiting them.
The Otterbournes were already on board. The passengers were shown their accommodation. Since the boat was not full, most of the passengers had accommodation on the promenade deck. The forward part of this deck was occupied by a glass-enclosed observation saloon, where the passengers could sit and watch the river before them. On the deck below were a smoking-room and a small drawing-room and on the deck below that, the dining-saloon.
Having left his things in the cabin, Poirot came out on the deck again to watch the process of departure. He joined Rosalie Otterbourne, who was leaning over the side.
“So now we journey into Nubia[157]. You are pleased, Mademoiselle?”
The girl drew a deep breath.
“Yes. I feel that one's really getting away from things at last.[158]”
She made a gesture with her hand. Here and there were houses abandoned and ruined as a result of the damming up of the waters. The whole scene had a melancholy, almost sinister charm.
“Away from people,” said Rosalie Otterbourne.
Then she suddenly stiffened as she exclaimed: “Why, here are Mrs Doyle and her husband! I'd no idea they were coming on this trip!”
Linnet had just emerged from a cabin half way down the deck. Simon was behind her. Poirot was almost startled by the look of her – so radiant, so assured. Simon Doyle, too, was a transformed being. He was grinning from ear to ear and looking like a happy schoolboy.
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